


Making Friends

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [35]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Gen, Master/Slave, Non-Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Slaves, Slice of Life, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 00:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: Master takes Ven out of town to visit an old acquaintance and Ven makes a new one





	Making Friends

Ven's life had slowly begun to expand. From merely running errands to the shops when Grumio had run out of something utterly necessary for the evening meal, without which it would be a complete disaster (and that there turned out to be several large packets of, buried on a shelf in the store-room, two days later), to accompanying his master to the Phallusy offices, to heading... wherever they were heading now.

He had been told to call for a cycleshaw for two from the house to the Pincian Gate; his master's car was kept in the garages outside the wall there. _Cars_. Master had a large house on the Quirinal, stocked with a full staff of slaves and Ven was not surprised to find that he had a smaller car than the powerful businessman's limo (was it a limo? Ven had zero knowledge of these things!) they had driven to the airport in, that time. This one was a smaller, more anonymous sort of thing. 

Master went to the driver's door, and Ven hesitated. Was he supposed to sit in the back seat – which would make Master look like a chauffeur? Or the front seat, which would make Ven look altogether presumptuous and probably earn him a whipping later if he'd guessed wrong? He couldn't recall reading anything about it, either way – it seemed to be one of those things you just knew, and he didn't. It had been the front seat of the hire car, in Britannia, but this was at home in Rome and he was not at all sure whether the rules from that trip applied here or not.

"Front seat," Master said shortly, resolving Ven's dilemma for him before he could work himself into a complete tizzy over it.

He settled himself rather cautiously into the passenger seat, nervous about putting himself on the same level as his master, even temporarily, even though he was simply obeying an order.

The drive itself was rather pleasant, with the faint burr of the car tyres over the stone slabs of the road surface, and the mid-morning sun making everything glow golden. Ven glanced at his master's face, wondering if he dared to ask where they were going (or, rather, to request permission to ask where they were going – but things got convoluted far too quickly when you started thinking like that!), and decided that he did not. 

The morning sun was to their right, mostly, which meant that they were heading in a north-ish sort of direction, and Ven had not been told to bring anything other than his usual secretary's satchel and a magazine or two if he wished (why he would need to bring a magazine to entertain himself, he could not say for the life of him!). He'd scooped up two issues of _Ave! serve_ from ages back from the pile in the break room; he'd never had time to read all the older issues in there, and was grateful that they were considered too useful (or too interesting) to throw out. It was a meagre enough library, all things considered, but the pathetic pile of tattered magazines was something that the household slaves considered to be _theirs_.

Master did allow them to have their own small things, granting them the courtesy of considering such things to be the slave's property, rather than his, despite the questionable legality of a slave being able to actually own anything when he didn't even own his body.

Ven did not otherwise pay attention to where they were going; it was of little consequence to him, because he was with his master, and his master seemed to know the route, for he took each turn and roundabout smoothly, without doubling back or correcting himself, or asking Ven for clarification at any junction. A sleek purple car passed them at one point, heading back towards Rome, accompanied by several motorcycles, but that was the only notable occurrence.

They eventually turned off the main road, seemingly following signs for Osteria Nova. The last turn helpfully informed them that the road was for the 'village only'. Master fished some sort of electronic passkey from the ashtray and slowed to a stop in front of a pair of large gates, passing the key over a sensor and waiting as the gates slowly swung open. _Osteria Nova, pagus servorum_ declared the sign outside the wall (which was at least half Ven's height again, he thought). They paused again just inside the gate as a uniformed guard approached from a hut. He gave Master a polite nod when he saw him, and gave him a set of directions.

It all seemed very new and clean, bungalows built from brick, covered with plaster and painted, each one a different colour, wide roads, lots of grass, several trees, one or two blocks of flats here and there, of the sort still called _insulae_ (rather than the much more modern-looking tower blocks to be seen in the newer parts of Rome and other large cities), which were also painted. He caught a glimpse of a small forum with a couple of cafes whose outdoor tables were shielded from the sun by colourful parasols.

Master eventually parked the car outside a long low building covered in pink-painted plaster and roofed with the familiar deep orange terracotta roof-tiles to be seen everywhere in Rome

Almost as soon as the engine had stopped, Ven's trained instincts had him out of the car, satchel slung over his head, and moving to open the door for his master, who exited with rather more dignity (which was only right and proper, of course. A true Roman master would never behave with indecent haste, even if they expected their slaves to do so).

He twitched his master's _pallium_ straight and stepped back, eyes lowered, so that Master could shut the car door and lock it.

It was a gorgeous day and Ven couldn't help breathing in even as he followed his master through the main doors into a reception area that was much more... homey... than the high ceilinged business-like atrium of Phallusy. This was also an atrium, but the walls were painted a darker colour and there were comfortable cushioned benches and low tables forming a seating area to one side. There were even potted plants scattered around – lemon trees, Ven though vaguely, though it would take more then the brief look he afforded the place for him to be certain of that.

"Sir?" The receptionist was a male slave, perhaps ten years older than Ven himself, wearing a Medicollar. Ven reflexively touched the name-chain around his own neck; his master hadn't removed it after the Britannia trip and Ven still had complicated feelings about it. And even a Medicollar marked someone as a slave as effectively as any name-chain or slave collar or slave brand.

"Drusus Varius Metellus, to see Elysia."

"If you would please sign yourself and your slave in, sir, I will find out where she is for you."

Ven sneaked a glance at the visitor's book as his master set the pen down and stepped back. In his master's neat handwriting was the time, Elysia's name (whoever she was), his master's name and '+1 slave'. Of course, why had he expected anything different?

"If you'll come this way, sir." It was a child who spoke, a girl of maybe eight, with a slave-collar around her neck. She led them along a corridor to a door and opened it. The door led to a colonnade around a more private paved courtyard garden shaded by trees, with tubs and jars of flowers dotted around, and several hanging baskets, and surrounded on all sides by a _peristylium_. There was a fountain playing, and several tables and chairs here and there, mostly of the wicker variety with cushions.

The girl – she reminded Ven of the pixies his mother had told him stories about – waited for the two visitors to step through to the _peristylium_ before darting around them and leading the way along the shady colonnade to a group of chairs surrounding a low table. Only one of the chairs was occupied, and the pixie slowed, laying her hand gently on the knee of the woman sitting there. 

"Citizen Drusus Varius Metellus to see you, Oma," she said and stepped back to allow Master past. 

The old lady (she was tiny!) reached for her cane, but before she could stand, Ven's master had sat down next to her and taken her thin wrinkled hand in his much larger one.

"Young Master Drusus," she said, her lined face alight with a smile of genuine happiness.

Ven felt suddenly like the spare wheel, in a way he never had before, even when in a room full of free people all ignoring him in the same way they didn't pay any attention to the furniture.

The pixie child had stepped back to hover beside Ven, caught between staying and going; looking a little anxious at having to deal with an actual citizen. Master might be the first real citizen she had ever had close contact with, Ven thought in sympathy.

"Drusus, who is the handsome young man you've brought with you? I don't believe we have met."

"My – secretary, Ven." Master sighed. "In case you have not realised it, Ven, this is my old nurse."

Ven noticed the master's odd hesitation; he had obviously been going to say, _concubīnus_ , and thought better of it. He nodded, hunting for an appropriate honorific, and finally took refuge in extreme politeness accompanied with a smile. "Madam."

The old lady – Elysia – reached to take the pixie-child's hand. 

"Briseis, dear, why don't you go and see if Aratus will send out something to eat, for the citizen? And I am sure he would like a cup of wine, too. You won't mind posca, I am sure," she added, turning her attention back to Master, who smiled.

"I will be driving, I don't think wine is a good idea."

"Sensible boy. But then, you always were."

Ven was caught off-guard. He had only really heard such a description applied to himself and had to bite his tongue in an attempt not to react at hearing the same description applied to his master.

"He might have juice?" Briseis said, and immediately coloured, hiding her face in the old woman's shoulder in a move that echoed the way Ven would like to hide his own face until he could recover his composure over hearing Master called 'boy'.

"Juice would be acceptable."

The words were accompanied by a frosty look at Ven who swallowed and gave his master a contrite look. He obviously hadn't controlled himself quickly enough, or his attempted non-reaction had failed badly. The hard paddling that his master's expression threatened made Ven add, silently, the words only meant for his owner, "I'm sorry, Master."

"Perhaps you would like to take Ven with you while the citizen and I talk boring grown-up things?" Elysia suggested to Briseis. From what Ven could see of her eyes, the little exchange between him and his master hadn't escaped her. She seemed needle-sharp, despite her advanced years.

"All right." The child straightened, although the look she gave Ven was somewhat cautious.

Master's expression was indulgent as he waved Ven away. "Go on."

Ven gave the pixie a grin and wished he had a lollipop or something he could offer her, but he did not. She returned his grin with a gap-toothed one of her own and skipped off as Ven bent his head to his master and turned to follow her.

"Who is he?" she asked, once they were back inside the home, its corridor seemingly dark now despite the sun pouring in through the windows which faced the front of the building.

"He's my master," Ven said, smiling as she slipped a hand into his.

"I don't have a master," she told him forlornly, drawing close and looking up at him.

"Of course you do. All slaves do, but sometimes they work for a group. Like you work here. Let's get the things for them and maybe I can show you how to find out who your master is."

It wasn't long at all before they retraced their steps, Ven carrying a tray with _prandium_ \- bread and cold meat and cheese and fruit and pastries – on it, as well as plates and cups. Aratus had sent them out with four of everything, rather than two, to Ven's secret amusement. Briseis was carrying a jug of ice-cold grape juice, a look of rapt concentration on her thin freckled face.

They set their burdens down on the table, and Ven gently grasped Briseis' thin shoulder as she reached to take an apple.

"The citizen has to have first dibs before we can – and we only can if he says we can," he told her quietly, remembering learning that lesson himself, painfully, at about her age. He had been rapped over the knuckles with a ruler and it had stung for ages, though as punishments went it had been extremely lenient.

Master helped himself to a plateful of food and a glass of juice before serving Elysia, gently putting the plate in her lap.

"Briseis, would you like to show Ven around? I think he would like to see a bit more of the village," Elysia said, looking up at Ven. "Why don't you take some of this and go and have a picnic somewhere?"

Ven lifted his eyes to his master's face, surprised at the suggestion. He wouldn't mind seeing more of the place, but it wouldn't kill him not to; he had learned how to rein his curiosity in over the years. And he didn't want Briseis to get into trouble for slacking on whatever chores she had; even children were supposed to work, if they were slaves.

"Go on – but be back in two hours. And take a pastry; it won't kill you," Master said indulgently, leaning back in his seat. "And let whoever is on duty at reception know that I am borrowing Briseis here for the next two hours."

Briseis didn't need telling twice, and Ven was not far behind her, just slow enough not to look over-eager.

The receptionist tutted, but shrugged, a small smile appearing on his face as Ven split his pastry in half and pushed a piece across the desk.

"Is there anywhere we can go and see all of it at once? Just to look at, I mean," he asked the pixie-child as they emerged into the bright sunlight in front of the residential home.

She nodded, her cheeks bulging with food; she had wasted no time in taking the biggest bite ever of her pastry. "Park."

Ven blinked and shrugged and followed her as she set off at a trot.

There was a park, with a hill. The climb to nearly the top of the hill was not as bad as the walk back up to the Quirinal from the Forum, but that was on paved road and this was not paved. They abandoned the path for the softer grass partway through the climb up, and found the shade of a cypress.

The village was not as big as Ven had first thought, and could probably be walked end-to-end in a few minutes. There were different areas and different types of housing, all the buildings painted a different colour from their neighbours but all with the bright terracotta roofs. It made a very pretty picture in the bright sunlight. The pink building had a mirror-image in yellow, which his young guide informed him was the nursing home. There was a collection of small _domi_ , obviously with each residence shared by a small group. 

"They've got a warden to look after them, in case anything happens," Briseis informed him, munching through an apple. "The larger houses over there are the free people's houses – we've got doctors an' nurses an' a teacher an' all sorts who can't be slaves. The _insula_ there's retirement flats. The buildin' there's for the slaves who looks after all this an' does the cookin' an' stuff."

It all looked very nice, a perfect sort of place to end up in, if your master didn't mind paying for it. Ven didn't think most masters would mind, depending on the cost and their previous relationship with their slave, though there were other things slaves could do when they got older – Icarus and Petrus, back at home, would probably be considered useless by most owners, but Master had found them something they could do, and do well, even if Icarus' knees did play up and prevent him from doing things as quickly as he used to. Gardening was not something to be done quickly, overall, though.

"How do we fin' out my master?" Briseis asked, rolling over on her stomach and looking up at Ven. He grinned, and copied her position.

"I could read the name from the tag on your collar." He lifted the tag of his own name-chain from within his tunic to show what he meant, before tucking it back in; he was still slightly self-conscious about it. He pulled his _tabula_ out of his satchel. "But that's cheating. Have you seen one of these?" 

"Yes, only I don't know how it works."

"It's easy, I'll show you," Ven said. "This button wakes it up, here. And then you put your finger here – any finger. Just touch it till it gives a little shake. You won't be able to do all the things I can do on it, but we can see your record. There we go. Now touch that little picture there. There we go, that's your photo, isn't it?"

"Yes. What's it all say?"

"Well, the first bit's your name. Briseis, right? Then your identification number, and then your date of birth – your birthday, and then when you became a slave. You're _verna_ , like me, so that's your birthday too. The next bit's the reason you're a slave – some grown-ups are slaves because they did something very bad and the judge said they have to be a slave, and some people find they owe a lot of money and the only way they can pay it back is if they sell themselves. But you're a _verna_ , which means you were born a slave. And your master's Tiberius Annius Faventinus."

"Is he the same as yours?"

Ven shook his head. "No, mine's the man I came with, who's talking with your Oma. Can you remember his name?"

"Drusus Varius Metellus," she recited. "And you're Ven. But she's everyone's Oma, an' not mine really."

"That's right – you've got a good memory! The next bit is if you've had any masters before, which you haven't. And then how much money you're worth, which is eight hundred sesterces."

"Is that a lot?"

"It's just right, for someone as special and clever as you. Do you know how much you've got saved up?"

"No."

"It says here that you've got fifty-four sesterces saved, which sounds right to me. You haven't got any authorisations, though maybe you will when you get older."

"What's that mean?" She tossed her plait over her shoulder.

"Special things that your master lets you do without asking him for permission all the time. And then there's a written description, because there are things you can't see in a photograph. You're nearly four feet tall, though I think you're a bit taller than that now. You've got black hair and brown eyes – have you, though?"

He turned to look at her, smiling into the intent expression she wore as she stared into his eyes, blinking at him in surprise.

"Your eyes are _green_!"

"Like a cat's?" Ven smiled. "Meow!"

She studied him, a serious look on her face. "No, not really. They're darker than a cat's and not the same shape. Can you see in the dark?"

He laughed. "Not very well – they don't work like a cat's."

She indicated the _tabula_ again. "Is that everything on there?"

"Not quite. You don't have any scars, or piercings, or brands, or tattoos – though mostly that's because those are things grown-ups are more likely to have than pretty girls like you. You're registered that you live here, at Osteria Nova, and you don't have any allergies. And now that's everything on there."

"How does it know all that?"

"The people who do the registering ask a lot of questions and do a lot of measuring. Which is why a lot of masters take their slaves to an office to get it done, where they've got all the right equipment for measuring height and everything. My master took me, when I was six – a different man to the master I've got now. And they record all your fingerprints and everything, which is why you can look at your records on my _tabula_."

"How can you read it all?"

"Because somebody taught me. Here." He pressed his own finger to the sensor, signing in himself, pulled up his note-taking program and slid the stylus from its housing in the side of the tablet. "This is how you write your name," he said, putting the stylus into her hand and showing her how to hold it before guiding her hand gently across the surface of the tablet.

"Oh..."

The hushed reverence in his young companion's voice reminded Ven of the clandestine reading and writing lessons he'd had, at about her age. Most free kids could already read fluently by her age, but there was still a cornucopia of bad feelings about teaching slave children to read and write, which made no sense at all to Ven.

"I wonder..." he murmured. 

"What?"

"I just had a thought, but I don't want to say what in case it might not happen, and I need to think it out properly anyway. And, I think we need to go, or we'll be late back!" He shut the tablet down, slipped the stylus away and put it back in his bag. 

They weren't late back, thankfully. Briseis darted past Ven to adjust Elysia's cushion, and Master got to his feet before stooping to kiss Elysia's cheek.

"Come again soon, Drusus – and perhaps you'll bring Ven again. I didn't get a chance to talk to him, and I'm sure we have a lot to talk about."

"I'll do that. I do need to take a look around the village properly soon, but I came to see you this time."

"You're a good boy, Drusus."

Master laughed, and patted her shoulder. "You're just saying that. I have to go, but I'll come again soon, and I'll bring Ven with me."

Ven was not entirely sure what to think of that, and said nothing until they were in the car again, driving back through the village (well, around it; the actual village itself was strictly pedestrian, like all residential areas). Naturally, when the silence was broken, it was not Ven who spoke first.

"What did you think of the child Briseis?"

"Master?"

"I don't make it a habit to repeat a question or order that was perfectly intelligible the first time, Ven."

"No, Master. I beg your pardon. She seemed very... attentive. Thoughtful."

"I have a mind to purchase her."

"Master, she's eight years old and happy where she is." Ven could not imagine what his master would find for a young child to do, nor could he think that the bright pixie would be happy in Rome after living in such a quiet, clean place as Osteria Nova. Even if it was walled in to keep people from running away (although the wall was probably more for the owners' peace of mind than to deter the slaves from making a break from their retirement).

"Eight years old and a general skivvy. I had in mind to make her Elysia's full-time attendant, rather than an errand-girl for everyone."

Ven looked sharply at his master, whose attention was (thankfully) fixed on the road. This was a side of his master that he had not seen, and he wondered how long it would last. Probably only until they got back into the house, he thought.

"Elysia can teach her to read, and write; they get on with each other." He glanced at Ven, who looked down. "Elysia is a debt-slave, Ven. The situation is... complicated."

Ven nodded, not wishing to attempt any more questions on the subject. "Briseis' master is Tiberius Annius Faventinus. He's owned her since birth and might not want to sell her."

"I know Tiberius. I think I can persuade him to part with her. I'll speak to him tomorrow at the baths."

"Yes, Master."

"When we get in, I want you to shower, then wait for me on my bed, naked, head down, arse up. I think you're due another paddling; it's been a while."

"Yes, Master."

**Author's Note:**

> The Romans were the last people to make decent roads (in Europe, anyway!) before someone spilled some tar on a road surfaced with Mr MacAdam's crushed gravel, some time in the 19th (or early 20th?) century. As the Roman Empire never fell, merely stumbled, they never lost the secret of good roads, and so all roads in the Empire are Roman roads, surfaced with stone. Just like the ones that criss-cross Europe and that can still be seen in some places.
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  _pagus servorum_ slave village (literally, village of slaves/slaves' village)  
>  _insulae_ (s. 'insula'.) Literally 'an island', the word referred to a single block in the newer towns built to the grid pattern, or to a multi-storey residential apartment block. You can still see original Roman insulae in Ostia today. [Model of an insula](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/5a/a7/fb/5aa7fb6162602aef04b4fa51588f8bac.jpg)  
>  _pallium_ : colourful outer garment worn by citizens, less formal and cumbersome than a toga, and could be worn in a variety of ways, depending on personal preference.  
>  _peristylium_ : the colonnade surrounding a private garden.  
>  _concubīnus_ : bed-slave, male (slave) concubine  
>  _posca_ : a cheap, rough wine  
>  _prandium_ : Lunch.  
>  _domi_ (s. 'domus') town-house.  
>  _tabula_ : tablet. Originally meaning the wax writing-tablet of Ancient Rome, I am using the word to mean a computer tablet today.


End file.
